I have trouble asking for help. I cannot stand burdening anyone with anything that I can do on my own, no matter how big or small, and always prefer to be the “Helper” vs. the “Help-ee.” However, with my recent project, Taryn’s Iron Journey From The Valley To The Sea, I let go of that vulnerability, because I truly could not do it by myself. I considered it, but I couldn’t leave my bike all alone on the course somewhere? I needed at least one person to help me, but what I received was a legion of my favorite people from various parts of my life interrupting their Sunday to share and enhance my experience of racing a solo DIY Iron(WO)man triathlon benefitting the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research.

**Post finish photo-op. Photo credit goes to Mark Choate.**

Race day called for grit, joy, wind, smiles, sand, and sunshine, but first it started with a swim.

I did not sleep soundly Friday and Saturday night because I was afraid of being locked out of the pool. The entire day was dependent on having my limbs in the water just before 6A, if that timing was bumped at all, especially considering the high wind forecast, my already long day, and tight daylight window would stretch into darkness. I followed up with the swim director earlier in the week about the race, and he assured me that the gate would be open, and if not, he would hide a key for me. Still, I lost sleep over it.

I have never been more relieved in my life.

I quickly stripped down to my TeamSFQ swimsuit, popped in the pool, and started swimming by 5:51A.

The missed hours of sleep poked at me during the first thirty laps. I was alone in the water, (and on the pool deck), because Marion had to go home to meet up with our friend, Andre, who was our videographer for the day. The sky was still dark because of lingering clouds from a storm that moved through the day before, and honestly I was worried that my fatigue would hinder the strength I needed to carry me through a windy bike ride, and marathon, (which are always hard regardless of the conditions). Thankfully, by the time I was half-way through the eighty-four laps that made up the 4,200 yards, i.e. 2.4 mile “Iron” swim distance, I was awake, swimming at a consistent pace, relishing every lap, and looking forward to the long day ahead.

Swim time: 1:08:11

I knew my Transitions for this race would take longer than a typical Ironman. I had to wrap my toe with KT Tape, (an absolute must to keep my foot comfortable all day), change out of my swim-suit and into my race kit, (rather than it it already being underneath my wetsuit or speed-suit), which is all why I buffered my schedule with extra time. So even though Marion chided me along to move quicker, I was thrilled to be rolling out of the parking lot by 7:14A.

The first few miles of the bike course were spent quickly and quietly riding through sleepy Porter Ranch and Chatsworth, proving that choosing to race on a Sunday morning was a good call. The clouds were gone, the sun was creeping up, and the air was calm and cool for my only climb on the course, the Santa Susana Pass.

**Nearly to the top of the Santa Susana pass.**

I had spent many Wednesday mornings riding up and down the pass since August, I memorized every rock at every turn, and even though I did not power up it super hard because of the many miles still ahead, it was the fastest I ever ascended it, and soon enough I was at the top and enjoying the long descent into Simi Valley.

The next fifteen miles were a fun and flat straight line through Simi Valley on Los Angeles Ave. This was the stretch I assumed would be the stickiest with traffic lights, but again not very many people were up and out and about so early on a Sunday morning. I was only stopped at three or four lights out of dozens that lined downtown Simi Valley, but soon enough Los Angeles Ave. turned in Tierra Rejada, the road widened, rose up slightly, and opened up to a long downhill section leading into Moorpark. It was at about this point that I lost sight of Marion and Andre.

They were leap-frogging me throughout Simi Valley, and then disappeared. There weren’t too many turns on the course, I wrote directions out for Marion, and we drove the course twice within the last couple of months, so I had faith he knew where he was going, but not seeing them for so long made me nervous. I was so rattled, in fact, that a couple of miles after making the right turn onto Santa Rosa I stopped to call him.

“Are you okay? Where are you?” I asked calmly.

“We’re on the main road. Where are you?” He replied nervously, as in, he knew I was pissed.

“I’m on Santa Rosa.”

“We are, too. We’re probably just in front of you. We couldn’t find a pace to turn off.”

“Okay.” We hung up, and then I continued pedaling north on Santa Rosa through Camarillo.

Just as I was coasting down Santa Rosa over the 101 Freeway, I saw two figures on the right side of the road up in the distance crouching like photographer’s and let out a sigh of relief. When I rolled past them, I let them know how ecstatic I was to learn they were okay.

“You guys scared the shit out of me!”

I wasn’t mad, just annoyed to feel needless stress during one of the most beautiful sections of the course. That worry soon seemed very silly because as I was riding closer to Lewis Rd., the section that started a ten mile loop in the farmlands that would take up forty+ miles of the course, I felt the wind picking up. Here we go.

The good news was that I was about twenty minutes ahead of schedule, the bad news was that the gnarliest winds I've ever ridden through were just a left turn away.

Headwinds are the worst. But they have a promising flipside, the tailwind. The chewier option are crosswinds, the kind where you don’t lose a lot of ground, but you don’t gain much either. Lucky for me I rode through a heaping stack of each wind variation from mile thirty-two to seventy-seven.

**Digging into a headwind on Las Posas Rd. Photo credit goes to Alexa Kelly.**

The bonus during the ride was I was treated to a surprise cheer squad, my brother Peter, his wife Alexa, and my niece and nephew, Kaia and Reed.

They were driving south on the 101 from their COVID get-away in Carpentaria and were planning to take Las Posas to PCH, (Pacific Coast Highway), en route to my Dad’s house in Palos Verdes. I assumed I would miss seeing them because I was ahead of the timing I gave Peter a couple nights before, but they are nothing if not a tenacious bunch, so they called Marion to grab more details of where I was, and when I heard a car honking in the opposite direction as I was battling a headwind on Lewis Rd., I felt immediate relief and an extra boost of energy. I knew they’d find me.

**Kaia and Reed cheering in the crazy wind. Photo credit goes to Alexa Kelly.**

The wind kept building throughout the morning. It was not letting up. I needed to hurry. My original plan was to be at the intersection of Lewis Rd. and Las Posas by 11:30A, mile seventy-four, then ride the three miles west toward PCH, and start the final thirty-five miles south on PCH to Temescal Canyon in Pacific Palisades, (the bike to run Transition) just before 12P. I was pedaling down the on ramp to PCH at 11:25A.

**Screaming down PCH. Photo credit goes to Andre Cantarel.**

The wind hadn’t changed direction all day, which meant the southward tailwind I enjoyed on Lewis Rd. was ready to push me down the remaining thirty-five miles at lightning speeds. I was cruising at about 27MPH the entire way, (except for the handful of mini-hills through Malibu), and rolled into to meet Marion and Andre in the parking lot at Temescal and PCH at about 12:50P.

Bike Time: 5:40:43

They were really on their game at this point, probably because I snapped/encouraged them to help me swap out nutrition etc,. during my only pit stop at about mile sixty-eight of the ride. I was fumbling with Gatorade bottles, and looking through bags for bananas when I looked over my shoulder to see both of them with cameras pointed in my face. Granted, neither of them had ever crewed before, and Andre’s single job was to shoot footage, but I told Marion I needed him as my crew first, and cameraman second. Therefore, I was proud to see him holding my out run gear bag, a Red Bull, and a banana as I fought the headwind rolling into T2.

**Foreground, our friend and videographer, Andre Cantarel, background, my hub and ride or die, Marion Spates.**

As I was running out of T2 I had a nightmare come to life. My hat was not snug enough on my head to handle the raging gale force winds, so I stopped to redo my bun, and broke my hair-tie. I had packed nearly every other accoutrement imaginable with me in my hydration vest, but no extra hair-ties. I usually have at least two extra on me at all times, because even though I have long hair, (or, kind of long right now), I wear it down about 1.5% of the time because it drives me nuts to have it in my face, hence why having it blowing uncontrollably in the wind at the start of a marathon made my stomach drop.

Miraculously, Marion and Andre had not driven away yet. I called them to come meet me further up the parking lot so I could grab one of the seventy-seven hair-ties ready as back-ups in my run bag. Once my locks were strapped back into place, I started my long run to the finish line. AKA, my 55th marathon.:)

The upside to the absolute insane wind conditions was that the typically very busy bike/run beach strand was wide open. Also, since I was running south bound for the first six miles to the Venice Beach pier I had the wind at my back, and was running quicker than planned. I knew that would change once I ran through Marina Del Rey and onward toward Playa Del Rey where the strand weaves in multiple directions, so my goal was to keep my effort the same regardless of how my pace was altered by the wind.

**Expert bottle hand-off skillz from my rookie crew Captain as I charged into a headwind through Marina Del Rey.**

I asked my brother Peter to join me on the run near El Porto in Manhattan Beach, which was at mile fifteen. Up until then, I was enjoying the some tunes, solitude, and blinding sand gusts when I looked up to see four people waving at me near mile twelve, it was Peter and his family, they were early!

**Kelly's on the strand!! Photo credit goes to Alexa Kelly.**

Reed hung on to run with us for nearly a mile.

**This photo really captures the forces of nature we were running through.**

The next couple of miles running with Peter were incredible. We talked, and didn’t talk depending on how I felt. My energy was steady, but the wind was relentless. This event would be challenging in perfect weather conditions, but it was made much more difficult with this anomaly of a windy day. I was pushing against or being pushed by the wind since 9A, and it was only growing stronger. What was the deal?

Then it hit me.

The Sunday prior I had a wonderful conversation with my Dad where he shared about the physical therapy classes he is taking to combat the progression of Parkinson’s. The visual that immediately appeared in my head was of him pushing against an invisible force. Therefore, during those middle miles of the marathon I accepted, in fact, I invited the wind to push down on me as hard as it wanted to, because my purpose was not just to swim, ride, and run all day, it was to do all of that as a means to fight Parkinson’s. I ran against the wind like I was pushing against an invisible force, and thought, “Bring it on, Universe!”

Then around mile seventeen, just before crossing the Manhattan Beach pier, the race turned into a party.

**Yours truly and the "Smiling Assassin" Lynne Fiedler.**

My friend and teammate, the legendary Lynne Fiedler, joined Peter and I on the path toward the finish.

Then less than two miles later, our teammate Jenn Aronson popped in to run, too.

**Peter, Jenn Aronson, Yours Truly, Lynne Fiedler, and Genn Geiger. Photo credit goes to Alexa Kelly.**

Next we stopped at a perfectly placed aid station set up by the Hermosa Beach pier by our teammate, Genn Geiger to slurp some NUUN, and stash some gels. A few paces later we were cheered on by a vibrant couple completely concealed in wind-protective gear, but I knew instantly it was the amazing Matt Jackson and Kristy Benner, one of my best friend’s from college, Hillary Jackson’s, little brother and his girlfriend.

My spirits were high, but my energy was low as we ran through Redondo Beach and on toward our final meeting hub of the race, the south parking lot of Torrance beach where my coach, Hillary Biscay, would join us for the last grueling five miles up into Palos Verdes.

**Peter and I closing in on Torrance Beach.**

My friends had peeled off at this point to meet up with us in Torrance, it was just me and Peter, and I told him I wanted to stop at the bathroom at the bottom of the hill below the parking lot to gather my wits and evacuate the dance floor.

There is a familiar feeling near the end of an “Iron” distance triathlon when your body is spent. It needs calories, but doesn’t want them, it’s eerie, primal, something I recognized, but hadn’t felt since October 13th, 2018, my last real Ironman in Kona.

We needed to move.

**Hillary making sure I take in some fuel before we start running again.**

Hillary has been preparing and steering me toward my goals for over a decade. Nevertheless, the fact that she was willing to be the one who led me up and over the numerous hills on Palos Verdes Dr., (the toughest part of the course), went well beyond her call of duty, (she has four young children, and it was a Sunday), but having her and Peter by my side, (two of my greatest heroes), made the hardest part of a challenging day the miles I will cherish most of all.

**Enjoying the well-earned downhill on the way to the finish.**

Peter peeled off a little early before the finish line due to a nagging IT band, but I still had to bank a half mile or so to make the run a full marathon. When Hillary and I flipped around toward the last stretch to the finish at my parent's house, the wind smacked us hard to put an exclamation point on the day.

It was a perfect way to end it.

The run down toward the finish chute is one I will never forget. I don't forget much anyway, but the image of a crowd of people i hold the most dear to me, friends, family, teammates, was surreal, yet exactly what I hoped it would look like when I dreamed up this event in August.

Marathon time: 3:46:13 (overall time was closer 3:49 due to the bathroom stop.)

Overall time: 11:15 hours. Plus or minus a few seconds, Marion checked his phone a little late.

I could not have finished this race without help. I am so glad people offered it, I am so glad I accepted it, and I am so glad I asked for it.

Thank you for following me along on this recent adventure, for donating to the amazing Michael J. Fox Foundation For Parkinson’s Research, we’ve raised over $10,000 so far, and you can still DONATE up through 12/31/2020. Thank you for taking part in this event person, and for cheering on from afar. And thank you for moving your body to appreciate and improve your health, which in turn inspires others to improve theirs.

We all have an invisible force we are pushing against, but no matter what it is, wind, disease, sadness, we can push back and push through it stronger together.

The song and video choice is an oldie, and out of left field, but it fits this week's theme to a "T."